His butler: Death
by Liontoothfairy
Summary: "He's lying there on the ground. The never-ending rain, not as crying over him, but washing him away. The blade in his chest, almost seem to look like it's suppose to be there. That the hole in his chest, the blood joining the rain, drenching his shirt, are just part of a fine masterpiece." Death of character, One-shot., Ciel, Sebastian, Mature themes.


The rain.

The spluttering, filthy rain.

Spreading the hate from this filthy world, as he lays there. As in his sleep.

Even the rain, the unclean from this corrupt world, can't ruin his vibe of formality; his class.

Not his looks, nor his hair.

Even with all his clothes drenched, his hair all undone, he still looks like a butler.

The Phantomhive's butler.

He's lying there on the ground. The never-ending rain, not as crying over him, but washing him away.

The blade in his chest, almost seem to look like it's suppose to be there.

That the hole in his chest, the blood joining the rain, drenching his shirt, are just part of a fine masterpiece.

As the Earl stands there, studying the butler, he notice these facts. But know, that this isn't, -at least not an implied- masterpiece.

His butler, there. On the ground.

With the demon blade, right through him.

Ironic, isn't it?

The butler who could never fail, the butler who could do it all. With ease.

The Butler who would never leave, never die.

Who would play with death, having fun with it, but never falling under.

He was the Phantomhive's butler, after all.

Oh, the irony.

The earl was as drenched as his butler, but never leaving his place.

Just standing there, carefully studying his butler. Looking for any sign, that would reveal the bluff of his death.

That he was only faking it, once again.

Maybe it was the fact, that the Earl, deep inside, knew that this was not yet another game.

That he was the only one left playing, that left him still standing.

«Oi, Sebastian!»

The Earl shouted, his voice showing the confidence of his role, even if he knew the butler where able to hear his slightest whisper. «Stop this foolish game, it's getting cold.»

There we're no change in the butler's composure,

just the blood slowly coloring more of his clear white shirt crimson.

Only the earl left to play. Alone. Loosing his most precious pawn.

The world seemed empty. Alone. As the rain muted any sound, any shirp. Any whisper.

As it were only Ciel and the body of Sebastian Michaelis left in this whole, filthy world. And in that moment, maybe they were?

"Sebastian." The Earl shouted, louder. With a slight tremble in his voice. As the child he really was.

"Stop this nonsense."

But the Butler just laid there.

Mirroring the true beauty he had portrayed while alive.

The Earl suddenly tightened his hands, and nearly screamed "Get up then, you moron! You know just as well as me that you can't die yet!" More trembling this time.

In rage, the Earl kicked the side of the lying, dear I say, man.

But the Butler never once lost his composure.

The cold grip of death, snaking it's arm around him. Silencing him.

The Earl fell to his knees. His eyes never once leaving his butler.

The face of the Butler looked peaceful, and his featured looked like the finest porcelain.

"You can't die." The Earl's voice was now just a bare whisper, almost swallowed by the harsh wind.

"You were supposed to stay with me to my very end. Through the depths of hell. You swore you'd never lie, to never leave. You swore!" The first drop of water could be seen on the Earls cheek as he clenched the lying man's shirt.

His trousers became soaked in mud, the rain ruined his outfit, his composure.

He looked for once as his age told.

But Ciel didn't care. Nothing mattered anymore.

What good can a king, all alone on the chessboard do?

He was all alone.

Again.

There was now more water covering the Earl's face, which the rain could not be blamed for.

Silent sobs could be heard, as the Earl buried his face in his hands.

"You swore to never leave me." Where words that could once again could be heard. Words so silent, that only the butler himself could have been able to hear. "You swore!"

Tears where no escaping his hands, tainting the already drenched shirt.

"Where you all a lie? Was nothing you ever said actually true?"

The Earl looked up, once again studying the Butler. Searching for anything.

From the top of the butler's top pocket, his shining pocket-watch.

The symbol of the Butler himself. Representing the timing and accuracy the butler prided himself for.

He took it out, studied it, but still left it secured to the butler.

It was still ticking as if nothing ever happened.

The Earl stared at the clock, who seemed totally unaffected. Just showing time. Dreadfully slow.

The earl clutched the pocket watch in his hands, as he leaned closer to the lying creature.

"It will continue, you know. Dreadful and slow. I had swore to keep fighting, keep climbing, always hanging on the end on the spider's tread."

He swallowed. "But I knew you'd take my soul eventually. That one day, I could finally cease to exist"

He's eyes were blurry, covered in this fluid he hadn't seen since that day. That fateful day.

"But know.. It will just continue. Dreadful, torturing, this time."

He stood up.

For the last time, studying his butler. That familiar face. The one who new him the best.

Had.

He looked behind him. To his big, dignified mansion. The one who had been rebuild in a day, who he had spend nearly all his time in, playing these games.

He turned around, looked over his butler, and into the dark, rainy, unmil horizon, that seemed to stretch to infinity.

That he _hoped _stretched to infinity. As he whispered, softly into the night sky;

"It seems this game is once and for all, over."

Which was the last words known from the Ciel Phantomhive, as he wandered into the distance, leaving no trails.

And as the servants found the body of the man known as Sebastian Michaelis, they never noted the lack of his prided pocket watch.

The time was over.

And maybe is he still walking, that Earl, still not giving in to time.

As he will keep walking, keep fighting as he holds the pocket-watch in his hand.

The one of _Sebastian Michaelis._


End file.
